


I'm Sorry That I'm Misbehaving

by Sometimesyoufly (faile02)



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (2012), Winter Soldier (Comics)
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Dom/sub, Explicit Sexual Content, Fingerfucking, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-28
Updated: 2013-04-28
Packaged: 2017-12-09 19:48:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/777338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/faile02/pseuds/Sometimesyoufly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They have an agreement. It starts when he enters the room, neck bowed, eyes downcast. Bucky barely looks up, just flicks his gaze towards the floor next to him. Clint kneels.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'm Sorry That I'm Misbehaving

**Author's Note:**

> So Emily said she wanted this for her birthday, which is in July, but I wanted to write it now, so happy early birthday!

They have an agreement. It starts when he enters the room, neck bowed, eyes downcast. Bucky barely looks up, just flicks his gaze towards the floor next to him. Clint kneels.

The television is on. There's some inane sitcom on the screen. Neither of the men are paying attention, even if Bucky's eyes are fixed on it. He reaches out, just able to get a hand in Clint's hair, holding tight and tugging just bit. Clint comes easily. 

Shifting his gaze slightly, Clint follows, hands coming up to undo jeans, slowly slide down a zipper. This time, Bucky watches, eyes darkening at the hint of a collar under Clint's shirt. That was new, but he likes it. 

Bucky shifts his hips just enough to give Clint enough room to slide his hand inside his jeans, warm hands instantly hitting skin. There's just enough slack for Clint to free Bucky's cock, already half hard and smooth to the touch. 

He doesn't come any closer, not until Bucky gives him the signal. Clint knows better, knows to only do what he's told. He learned that lesson the hard way, bent over the couch, under Bucky's thumb. It had taken him nearly a week to walk straight after that. 

Instead, Clint keeps his hand on the base of Bucky's cock, idly stroking it, watching as the length expands, thickens under his practiced fingers. A low groan escapes Bucky's lips, and though Clint fights to keep the smirk off his mouth, the corners upturn just enough for Bucky to notice. 

The fingers in his hair tighten, painfully so, gripping Clint's head and pulling him face first into Bucky's crotch. The movement is fast, almost angry, knocking clint off balance. His nose is under Bucky's cock, buried in the soft skin of his sack. Heat radiates off, tinting Clint's cheeks pink, the musky scent of Bucky's sweat filling his nose. 

"Lick," Bucky orders, the first words spoken since Clint entered the room. The sound of his voice sends a shudder through Clint's frame, and his mouth opens up, tongue darting out, licking a line of sweaty skin. 

Shifting, Bucky sighs, opening his legs wider. There's not much room for movement in his tight jeans, but he manages. His zipper presses into the side of Clint's face, a line forming on his cheek, red and jagged. The line is enticing, barely visible, with how close Clint is pressed in. As Clint's mouth is working it's way across Bucky's sac, a metal finger reaches in, slides against the red line, feeling the indents from the pressure. 

"Stop. Put your hands behind your back." Clint moves, pulling his face away and clasping his arms at the wrist. "I didn't say you could move your face. You know better, Clint."

Bucky stands, his hand still in Clint's hair, scratching against his scalp. Clint's eyes are wide, angry at himself for fucking up so early in the game, eager for the punishment Bucky is sure to dole out. He tries to read the plans in Bucky's movements, the grasp of his hands, the tilt of his hips. It affords him a moment's notice before his head is wrenched back, a thick cock pressed to his lips. Bucky forces his way in, barely gives Clint time to breathe before there’s a cock all the way down his throat, face pressed close, gagging around Bucky.

It's all casual movements, Bucky fucking into Clint's mouth like it's nothing to him. He's still watching TV, barely paying attention to the spit dribbling out of Clint's mouth, the flare of his nostrils as he tries to breath, the tears that start to build in the corners of his eyes. It feels like ages, Clint's mouth stretched around Bucky's length, before Bucky finally looks down, acknowledges the strain Clint's feeling. He pulls back, leaving just the head of his cock with Clint's wet lips wrapped around it. 

"Use your tongue." 

Clint doesn't hesitate, just works his tongue around the slick tip, running it across the slit, the salty taste of pre-come filling his mouth. He's breathing heavily through his nose, drawing Bucky's attention. Clint looks absolutely wrecked. His face is red, cheeks blotchy, dried tear streaks at the corners of his eyes. He’s being so good, silent the whole time, save when Bucky thrusts in deep enough to gag, keeps his cock a far down Clint’s as he can take. He wraps his tongue around the tip of Bucky's cock, drawing out a strangled curse as he sucks it like a candy. Clint is very careful not to smirk at the reaction. 

Tugging on his hair, Bucky pulls out with a loud pop, letting his hard cock smack Clint’s against face. Clint barely even blinks, just swallows around the pain in his throat. It had taken weeks of practice for Clint to be able to deep throat, and sometimes, if Bucky is particularly rough, he feels it afterwards. This is one of those times, but Clint doesn't protest, knows he deserved the treatment, just sits back and waits for Bucky's next instruction. 

Arms crossed, Bucky looks down, lips pursed as he considers his next option. At least, he pretends to consider it. He's had the whole night planned out since the moment they agreed on conditions. There's just enough time for Clint to tap out if he wants, the moment when he gets to say if it's too much. He doesn't take it, just meets Bucky's eyes briefly before looking back down, ready and waiting. 

"Stand up. Strip."

Bucky watches Clint struggle to stand, reaches out to help him. For a second, his fingers stroke the inside of Clint's arm, a simple gesture of affection before he steps away, let's Clint take his clothing off himself, folding first his shirt and then his pants neatly, placed on a nearby chair. Leaning back, Bucky half sits on the arm of the couch, his cock still free, forgotten about. He watches Clint undress, the layers of clothing coming off until there’s nothing left, save the dark leather collar around Clint’s throat. Bucky sucks in a breath, his cock jumping at the image. Clint's own dick is rock hard and standing at attention, much like the man himself. 

"Hand or paddle?" Bucky asks, flexing metal fingers. He enjoys Clint's blink, the way his eyes dart to Bucky's hand. Clint has a choice, he always does, though he knows which answer Bucky prefers. A wooden paddle versus a metal hand. Bucky never spanked with his human hand, likes the feel of flesh against metal too much, the sound it makes, his arm swinging through the air. The hand hurt more, but the paddle was longer, and it was always Clint's choice for whatever Bucky used.

"Hand." The word is rasped out of a throat that's been abused. It's hard to tell if it's the sound or the word that makes Bucky smile. Likely it's a combination of both. He gestures with his chin, waits patiently as Clint leans over the couch, ass in the air. There's a stillness as Clint prepares for the strike, hears the swish of air, the clap of metal on skin. He barely refrains from yelping, clenches his jaw shut and waits for the next slap, this time on the other cheek. Bucky is even and fair, but unpredictable. One smack to the left cheek, three to the right. Two to the left, one to a thigh. The spanking hurts, and Clint can't hold his reactions in. It doesn't take long before Clint is bucking with each hit, ass red and warm to the touch. Bucky runs his fingers along the skin, feeling the metal heat up. 

He grins, slips his hand between Clint's legs, forcing a wider stance. For a moment he considers continuing, wonders if he could get the insides of Clint's thighs as cherry red as his ass, but then Bucky's eyes focus on the tight hole in the middle, the smallest bit of moisture gleaming in the light. Clint prepared himself beforehand. 

"Good boy." Clint shivers at the contact.

Running a finger along the rim, Bucky can feel the amount of lube there, enough to slide his finger in, feel the slick heat against his bionic skin. He works the finger in and out, adds a second one, fucking Clint slowly with them. Bucky knows exactly how much Clint can handle, knows when to fish the lube out of the side drawer, add little more to the finger fucking, knows how to crook his fingers to hit Clint's prostate, drawing out a groan from the body underneath his hands. Bucky knows that if he adds a third finger, the burn will be less, Clint will be looser around him, will come easier. 

Clint hasn't earn that right tonight. 

There's a hand on the small of Clint's back, pushing him down further on the couch, spreading his legs more, giving Bucky room to stand between them. There’s the sound of clothing rustling, jeans falling to the ground, a shirt being tossed away. For a second, it’s quiet, and then there's the sound of tearing. Clint can smell the latex even if he can't hear Bucky rolling the condom on. They never fuck without it. Fingers are on his cock, Bucky's fingers, stroking him slightly, keeping him hard. A hand grips his hips, there's the press of head of a cock at his entrance, and Clint has to remember to breathe as Bucky pushes his way in. 

It's tight, almost too tight, even with the extra lube. Bucky barely pauses for Clint to get his bearings, just starts fucking him in long, slow strokes. All the way in, a slow slide out until just the tip is inside him. Fingers grip hips, leaving marks, things that will turn into bruises later, from the way Bucky pulls Clint's hips towards the hilt of his dick, groaning at the pressure surrounding him. 

"Fuck, Clint," Bucky grounds out, his hips starting to move faster. He reaches forward, grasping the collar around Clint’s throat, pulling it up, exposing Clint’s neck to the air. It isn't as if Bucky is close enough to reach his face, he just likes the way it strains the sounds coming from Clint’s mouth. "I should record this, have it playing on loop in our bedroom. You're so pretty like this, my cock inside you, fucking you into the couch. Next time, next time I'm going to tie you up, hands behind your back, a gag down your throat. You'd be so good for me, all tied up like that."

Hips slam against Clint's ass, the sound of skin slapping against skin music to Bucky's ears. Clint cries out with each thrust, hand scrabbling for purchase. He's trapped under the weight of Bucky's body, each jerk of Bucky's hips rubbing his hard cock against the fabric of the couch. He moves with Bucky, gaining momentum, spikes of pleasure shooting through his limbs. 

With a growl, Bucky pulls out and flips Clint over. He's on his back under Bucky's hands, feels his legs bend, pushed up to his head. Clint has never been more glad of his circus training than in that moment, grabbing his legs and holding on as Bucky drives straight into him. Hands are on Clint's thighs, holding him down as Bucky’s cock pistons in and out of Clint's tight hole. He shifts his hips, hears Clint cry out, and knows he is hitting his prostate. 

"You can come for me, Clint. Think you can do it without me touching you? Jesus, you're so fucking tight. I want to fuck you forever, until you're loose and open and I could slide two fucking cocks inside you. You'd like that, wouldn't you? Two cocks fucking you at once, filling you up. Maybe next time I'll invite Steve in, watching him fuck your face, get your lips around his cock, fuck you from behind while you ride him. You want that, Clint?" Bucky's babbling, watching Clint's face, his cock, reaches for it, starts to jerk him off in time with each thrusts. 

"Come for me, baby," Bucky says, his voice low and deep. He smirks at Clint's strangled cry, the spurting of come all over Bucky's hands and Clint's stomach. "Good boy." He scoops it up, offers his fingers to Clint, watches him lick up his own come. There's a bit on Bucky's thumb that Clint misses. He licks it off himself. 

Bucky's thrusts start to slow, moving from brute to casual, before stopping altogether. He's going to come any moment, wants to finish in Clint's mouth, make him swallow all of it. Pulling out, Bucky turns to take the condom off, turns back and Clint's already in position, mouth open and waiting. Bucky doesn't even hide the smirk, just slides his cock into Clint's mouth, lets him go to town, gripping his hair as he comes down Clint's throat only moments later. 

Clint suckles and licks at him until Bucky pulls away, flops down on the couch next to Clint. They're both sweaty and tired and if Bucky aches, he can only imagine how Clint must feel. There's no space between them, it's easy to pull Clint half into Bucky's lap, find his mouth and kiss him for the first time that night. Clint tastes like sweat and semen and it's the hottest thing Bucky has tasted in days. He licks into his mouth, groaning at the taste. 

Bucky pulls away to make eye contact with Clint. "Okay?" His voice is low, fingers in Clint’s hair, down his neck, playing with the buckle on the collar. He wonders if he could get Clint to wear it more often.

"Yeah," Clint replies, his voice is scratchy. "More than." There’s a grin with his words, and Clint slides a little closer, flops against Bucky’s broad chest. He’s all loose limbs and a burning ache he’ll feel for weeks. “You better tie me up, next time.”

Bucy laughs, catches Clint up in a kiss. “If you’re good. Or not.”


End file.
